


Love, Andrés de Fonollosa

by Lingeringnights



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Angst, Berlermo, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa Lives, Fluff, Gay, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Sad, berlin/palermo, m/m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:46:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25127203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lingeringnights/pseuds/Lingeringnights
Summary: I don't want you to apologize to me. You didn't do anything wrong. I did. I pushed something away because I was a coward, but I'm not anymore.In just a few months we'll enter the mint. I'd much rather melt gold with my smart engineer, but it's impossible. I've realized that I've been a bit of a son of a bitch my entire life. This time I'll go out with dignity.Te quiero, Martín.Love,Andrés de Fonollosa
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa & Palermo | Martín Berrote, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote, berlermo - Relationship
Comments: 12
Kudos: 51





	Love, Andrés de Fonollosa

Once again Martín sat down at his dusty desk and grabbed his favourite pen. Andrés had stolen it from the bank of Spain for him. The air in his tiny apartment was stiff and you could see the dust fly through the air. From a drawer, he took a piece of paper and set it down before him. The pen spun around his anxiously trembling fingers and his foot bounced on the floor. After a while, he finally set the pen down and started writing.

_Dear Andrés,_

  
_I know it's been a bit longer than the regular monthly letter, but I was caught up in work.  
_ _Speaking of work, I just came back from a robbery. Nothing big, but you may hear of it in the news in the next few days. We stole 25 Million from a Sicilian Bank. That's where I live right now too. In Palermo. So far I really can't complain. I met many new people, including those I pulled off the recent heist with. They're decent at what they do, but not good. I think they benefitted from my discipline. The food is alright too, I suppose._

  
_I don't even know if you receive my letters anymore. Maybe you moved away from the Monastery and the Monks ask themselves 'what does that Martín Berrote guy want from us?', but just in case you didn't, just in case you still live at the Monastery, just in case you read this, I want you to know I'm deeply sorry. I behaved like a teenage girl. I shouldn't have been that pushy. I shouldn't have been so stubborn. I knew where your heart was, with the ladies, but I kept trying. I kept invalidating your private space._   
_I kept loving you. Like a fool. I know this now._

  
_I'm very self-aware of my mistakes, but please give me a second chance, Andrés. I'll behave. I'll control myself better. I'll let you be. I don't deserve it, I know that, but please have mercy. I had nothing before I met you and I feel like slowly but surely it will all crumble around me. I don't expect you to understand how you_ leaving _us behind felt, but I can tell you this; it didn't help me heal. It was more like rubbing salt into my wounds. Let me come back. Por favor, Andrés. I understand that I will never be a lover for you, and I accepted this years ago, but please don't take away our friendship too. I've never felt so connected with anyone and I know you feel it too. Or felt it. We're soulmates, remember?  
_ _I wish I could be mad at you; I really do. I want to be furious. I want to be miserable. I just want to stop feeling so incredibly empty inside._

  
_Write me back when you get this letter. Or don't and throw it away, it's not like I'll find out._

  
_I'm sorry, Andrés._

_Best regards,_

_Martín Berrote._

Martín's normally neat and beautiful handwriting almost looked wobbly and unstable. He had started to cry while writing the letter, he almost always does. With his hands still shaking he neatly folded the paper and slipped it into an envelope. After that, he got up and wiped his eyes dry. The whiskey he poured himself afterward was his fourth that day. It was around 11 a.m. When he had taken his first sip and let the flavour roll around his tongue and mouth, he pulled out a wax-seal-set from a drawer. Maybe he should feel ridiculously pathetic for buying this solely for the purpose of writing letters to his ex-best friend and or lover who might not even get them, but Martín knew that if Andrés did receive his letters, then he'd appreciate it. He sat down at his shabby desk again and set up the kit. Relaxed he leaned back and took another sip of his whiskey as he watched the dark-red wax melt slowly. The colour matched Andrés' suit he was wearing that day perfectly and Martín couldn't recall if that was on purpose or not. After a while, he poured the wax on the letter and sealed it shut with a stamp. Tomorrow he'd sent the letter to the Monastery.

_**\---** _

A small smirk played around Andrés' lips as he held the letter with a red wax seal. His thumb traced over the familiar handwriting of his own name. He'd always recognize it as Martín's. He was sitting at his desk at the Monastery, a candle was lit, it's light flickering in his eyes. In a drawer just under his desk, he stored the letters from all the months before. All of them unanswered. But he read them whenever he'd miss his friend. Andrés wasn't stupid. He knew what he'd done to Martín. He knew he had hurt him. And he knew he couldn't just go back and pretend like it never happened. It would only break his engineer further. With skilled fingers, he opened the letter, careful not to break the seal.   
As he was reading the letter his expression stayed blank, but at the end of the letter, there was a small stain. Barely noticeable but living with Martín for years had taught Andrés to pick up on the tiny things. It was a tearstain. Andrés' brows furrowed ever so slightly. Mindlessly he rubbed his finger over it, picturing Martín sitting at his desk, wiping his tears. Looking handsome as always, nonetheless. He read the letter again. And again. Afterward, he moved to put it in the drawers with all the other letters. But Andrés hesitated. Then he did something he had never done, he picked out a sheet of paper and a pen and started writing.

_Dear Martín,_

  
_it has been a while, yes. I was almost getting worried you wouldn't write to me again. It truly would have been a shame; I love hearing about what you are up to._

  
_I've been to Palermo once, but that was a long time ago. Maybe I'll go back there someday._

  
_The Monastery is quiet without you. It feels empty without the sound of your pen flying over your plans. Or the sound of your fingers tapping on the table to the rhythm of the music. Or the sound of your glass clinking against mine._   
_But the monks are keeping me company, sometimes I still sing with them. They are the only ones around._

  
_That night I lied to you. I said I wouldn't think of you, but I did. I couldn't stop thinking of you, so I left Tatiana. I didn't want to kiss her; I knew it wouldn't be the same. And I didn't want anything else._   
_This was the only lie I've ever told you. I meant everything else I said._

  
_We're soulmates. We’ve always been._

  
_But I had to leave. To let you heal because I couldn't be with you. I'm dying, Martín. My disease is slowly but surely killing me, and I couldn't bare you seeing me all weak and shaky. I want to be in your memory as powerful and beautiful._

  
_I don't want you to apologize to me. You didn't do anything wrong. I did. I pushed something away because I was a coward, but I'm not anymore._   
_In just a few months we'll enter the mint. I'd much rather melt gold with my smart engineer, but it's impossible. I've realized that I've been a bit of a son of a bitch my entire life. This time I'll go out with dignity._

  
_Te quiero, Martín._

  
_Love,_

_Andrés de Fonollosa_

"Andrés hurry up. Our drive will be here soon, and we need to be there before anyone else arrives." He looked up from his letter and at his brother, that was standing in the doorframe. "Of course, just give me a minute", he answered Sergio with a small smile on his lips. His shaking fingers folded the paper neatly and put the letter into an envelope. Over the candle on his desk, he then melted dark blue wax with golden flakes in it. Watching it relaxed him and allowed him to remember Martín's face that day. His beautiful eyes, empty but yet so full of love and devastation. Tears streaming down his face. Andrés didn't even notice the single tear rolling down his cheek as he carefully poured the wax on the letter and sealed it with a stamp. In his most beautiful handwriting, he then wrote Martín's name and address on the letter. He'd give the letter to the post on the way.


End file.
